CrissCross
by Gabrielle MB
Summary: Heero wakes up one night, feeling something is wrong. But what? 1x2, angst, selfmutilation. Oddity.


Criss-Cross

Author: Gabrielle MoonBeam

Fandom: Gundam Wing (Sotsu, Bandai, Sunrise owns it. Those bastards.)

Warnings: Self-mutilation, shounen ai, 1+2+1… Blood? Confusing. Odd.

Notes: A ficcie I whipped up before our choir went on a trip to Belgium. It all started with me thinking of the line: "Criss-Cross, tic-tac-toe." Muse came, whacked me on the head and this is what came out of it. Enjoy. 

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It's the stench of blood that wakes him. 

That metallic, smooth scent is familiar, oh so familiar to him, he has smelled it in countless battles upon the charred bodies of Mobile Suit pilots. He has felt it course down his own body from wounds he barely even feels anymore. 

He sits up in his bed, awake and alert, always the Perfect Soldier. His head turns, gaze sweeps over the perfectly normal room decorated with pastel peach dipped in the inky blackness of the night. 

He sees the empty bed across from his; he can feel the warmth wafting from the sheets. 

The room is suffocating him.

He stands up from his bed, barely feels the chill of the cold floor underneath battle-hardened feet. 

His emotionless eyes scan the room; take note of the door left ajar in the haste of getting away. 

The night, the quietness of the house caresses him as he pads with agile feet towards the sliver of light not far away, down the hall. 

Peach-coloured carpet bends under his toes. 

He goes past the open door leading to Trowa and Quatre's bedroom, passes the single room the Solitary Dragon inhabits. 

His fingers touch the smooth, white wood of the bathroom door; his blue, blue eyes see nothing even as they see everything. 

He pushes lightly against the wood, nudges just barely and the door creaks open, the sound ricochets in the empty hallway. 

He sees Duo.

And Duo sees nothing, violet eyes staring unwaveringly at the far wall of the bathroom. 

The peach carpet underneath the pilot of Death is tinted crimson. 

"Criss-Cross, tic-tac-toe."

Duo's words ring hollow even as they bubble from his lips in a steady, sing-song voice. 

"See the blood? See their tears?"

Heero's eyes move lower, cold. His hands clench into fists even as he feels numb and empty. 

Duo is holding a knife, running it up and down his nude, nude, nude body, drawing circles, triangles and squares of blood. 

"See this? It looks like a cross, a holy cross."

A quiet, humourless chuckle, dead violet eyes staring at cracked tile. 

Duo's legs are covered in crosses. Holy, holy crosses bathed in Christ's blood and anguish. 

Redemption. 

Heero stands still, barely breathes as Duo cuts, cuts, cuts, swings the knife in a theatrical arch and giggles. 

"I'm betraying them. Betraying…"

Duo's eyes are dead, dead, dead and Heero can't stand it. 

Something gives a silent scream behind cobalt eyes. 

"I wanted…"

Duo's head tilts, his eyes stare at Heero even as he speaks in a silent, hushed whisper filled with shame. 

Heero feels a chill upon his back, every little hair standing on end. 

Duo's knuckles are white, thin fingers curled around the hilt of an ordinary kitchen knife.

"I wanted… I wanted to cut off my braid."

Duo smiles, touches his hair with bloodied fingers. His flat chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm. 

"But I couldn't. I couldn't betray… Couldn't betray Solo…"

Something, something is pounding in Heero's chest, something hurts and he presses a hand against muscle and bone, brows drawing together. 

Duo's gaze drops, splatters against thin cuts.

"Criss-Cross, tic-tac-toe…"

An endless chant emerging from between chapped, bleeding lips. 

A silent mantra and Duo smiles, he cuts, cuts, cuts and bleeds away his sins. 

The mocking, sing-song tone brands itself into Heero's mind, leaves an imprint that will haunt him until he dies. 

Heero steps forward, takes the knife from Duo and throws it into the bathtub. 

The clang, clang, clang of it hurts Heero's teeth, breaks the glass of Duo's eyes. 

Duo looks up at Heero, sees nothing but sees everything he needs to. 

The pilot of Wing kneels in front of Death, lowers his head in silent worship and opens his arms. 

Death touches him, traces patters with wet fingertips across a bare chest. 

He is still, kneeling with an offer Death must accept. 

Duo moves, budges just slightly, bent knees straightening from under him. Death moves forward, wraps himself in the arms of Heero, just another mindless soldier. 

The stench of blood lulls him to sleep.

He dreams of nothing. 


End file.
